#SampleSunday: Missing Persons- “You think he had a choice?”
On Sundays I tease an upcoming project. Today's sample is from Missing Persons, coming later this summer! Note: this is a lightly edited sample.
Greetings, bookpals! We are one week closer to Missing Persons! While we wait for edits to come back, I’m sharing snippets of the novel on Sundays. This scene shows Wesley and Yvette navigating the disappearing line between professional partnership and personal longing. Isn’t it achingly beautiful to watch someone fall for a person who's been right there all along?
Meet Wesley | Meet Yvette
WESLEY
Ten hours at the courthouse had left me a dry husk in a navy blue suit. The only saving grace was that the last two hours of my day was in a court-ordered mediation between Marcel and Julia Simeon. I loosened my tie before it could choke me to death as I walked through the parking deck to my car, phone pressed to my ear.
I thumbed open the key fob with my other hand and the Range Rover chirped, the seats already moving to my pre-set position. The air conditioning kicked on automatically, a blessed relief from the Atlanta heat.
“Simeon looked pitiful. Like it wasn't his fault he had to give Julia twenty-five mil.”
“He need to feel pitiful,” said Yvette on the other line. “It's probably all for show anyway. Did you use any of my footage?”
“Played it like a highlight reel.”
Yvette's laugh crackled through the speaker. “Good. I'm sure he told some lie like he was working late. He was working something.”
I dropped the phone into the holder on my dashboard and waited for the Bluetooth to connect, then pulled out of the parking space, navigating through the concrete maze toward street level. “Julia's walking away clean with everything she wants, including the money.”
“That's good. So glad I could help her out. So…uhmmm…” Yvette paused, then asked in a lower register. “Are you coming by here?”
Young Investigations was clear across town from the courthouse, my office, and my house. I'd been driving out of my way to see her.
“Thought about it, but I'm beat. I'm heading home to try to forget about entitled attorneys who think a ninety-minute closing argument on a slip and fall case is necessary. But uh…”
I could hear her shifting around, maybe straightening papers on her desk.
“Come over. You haven't seen the latest updates to the house,” I continued, coaxing her in.
“You cooking? Or at least ordering? You know I eat.”
“Nobody knows better than I do, Vette.”
A moment's hesitation. Then, “You need me to bring anything?”
“Nah. When you get there, I'll have everything I need. See you in a while.”
Then I hung up before she could click her tongue at me, like she always did when I openly flirted with her.
The driveways in Cabbagetown barely fit a car, but I'd paid extra to pour a new slab after the old one buckled in three places from the roots of a dying magnolia. I coasted into the garage and shut down the engine, taking a second to breathe before I went inside.
The mill worker's house was almost a disaster when I bought it. I'd stayed in my midtown condo while it was being overhauled. Rotting porch boards had been replaced, hundred-year-old paint had been scraped off, plumbing that probably belonged in a museum was replaced. It would have been less expensive to buy a brand new home, but the character in my house couldn't be duplicated. The bones were solid, built to last when the Fulton Bag and Cotton Mill employed half the neighborhood.
Now the restored wraparound porch and original floors made it stand out among the shotgun houses lining the narrow street.
I grabbed my briefcase and the battered legal pad from the passenger side before locking up. Inside, I'd kept the high ceilings and wide-plank floors while adding modern touches. Yvette liked to tease me about finally breaking free of military minimalism, but she'd been here during every stage of renovation, offering opinions on paint colors and making fun of my attempts at decorating.
I'd barely changed into lounge pants and a t-shirt when I heard the El Camino pulling into the driveway. She appeared on my porch moments later, laptop bag over one shoulder, manila folders under her arm.
“Come on in. Make yourself at home.” I took the files from her and set them on the kitchen island.
“Well, aren't you domestic,” she said, smirking as she took in my casual attire. Gone was the sharp-suited attorney who wore a diamond stud in one ear. This was the Wesley few people got to see—relaxed, at home in the space I'd curated.
“Off-duty vibes,” I said, moving to lower the volume on the Lo-Fi music piping into the room through overhead speakers. Evening light from the French patio doors caught the rich colors in the Turkish rug I'd added recently. The whole house felt different in this light. Warmer, more lived-in. More me.
“The place looks good,” she said. “Remember when the kitchen was all dark cabinets and tired linoleum and so closed off?”
“I remember when you told me I was crazy to buy this house. You didn't see the vision.”
“It looked like the civil rights era in here,” she deadpanned, looking around at where I’d torn the walls down to create an open concept space. “I can admit I was wrong.”
She wandered to the French doors leading to the back deck. The wooded lot behind the house was one of the reasons I'd bought the place. It was a rare patch of green in a neighborhood where developers were cramming condos into every available space.
“The deck is finished.” I loved the awe and appreciation embedded in her tone.
“Can't wait to break it in.” I headed to the bar cart, opened a bottle and poured two fingers of scotch, then glanced at her. “Want something to drink? Water, Coke...” I chuckled, then jokingly offered, “Scotch?”
“Hmm. What are you making?”
“Chicken and pasta arrabbiata. The real thing, with enough chilis to make you sweat.”
I was practically seducing her. Yvette liked her food to clear her sinuses.
For a moment, she stayed at the window, her silhouette framed in the evening sun blazing through the kitchen. Then she turned from the window and walked over to the bar cart.
“Pour me one.”
“Pour you one, what?” I asked.
“Scotch,” she answered. “Pour me one.”
I paused, glass halfway to my lips. “Vette. You sure? You haven’t drank much since—”
“I’m sure,” she reassured me. “I need to turn my brain off for a minute.”
I studied her for a few beats, then reached for another glass from the cart and poured a smaller measure than mine. I handed her the glass. She looked up at me as she took it.
No makeup. Loose khakis. Plain T-shirt. Hair pulled back with a wide headband. Still the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Not because she was trying, but because she wasn't.
I wanted to taste her again. That kiss was still with me, occupying every other thought. It must've shown on my face because she cleared her throat and stepped back.
She sipped the scotch and made her way to the other end of the kitchen. “Mmmmm. This is nice. Smooth.”
“Nick's housewarming gift.”
I went back to the stove and stirred the sauce, trying to focus on cooking instead of the way she'd looked at me just now.
“What kind of man leaves his kids?” she asked suddenly. “I keep coming back to that. Even if Edward found proof of fraud. Even if he was in danger...”
“Maybe he thought he was protecting them.” I stirred the sauce, adding diced chilis then added pasta to boiling, salted water. “If Barrett's as connected as Nick says he is...”
“Still.” She downed another sip, larger this time. “Those boys needed their father.”
I turned off the heat under the sauce and faced her. “You think he had a choice?”
“Maybe not a good one, but still a choice. I keep thinking about what I would do. If someone threatened my family, you know?” She trailed off, then met my eyes. “I wouldn't run. I'd fight.”
“That's because you're stubborn. And ex-military. And you can fight.”
“I can only fight skinny, annoying men named Yancey,” she said, giggling into her glass. “I'm going to see if there's a Bones marathon on.”
“Leaving me in the kitchen to do all the work?”
“I'm a guest, Payne!”
I hope you enjoyed today’s sample from Missing Persons coming August 2025. Stay tuned for a cover reveal and LINKS GALORE! If you loved this sample, you’d love just about anything else I’ve written—take a stroll through Books by DL White.
